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“I was thinking I could teach you how to make French toast in the morning since you mastered scrambled eggs last time,” I say. “What kind of bread do you have in the house?”
“What kind would you like?”
“We could do it with any kind of bread, but I like brioche or challah.”
“Pick one.”
“Whatever is easiest.”
“Pick one,” he reiterates as he peels the cardigan off.
“Challah.”
“All right. You’ll have your challah bread in the morning.”
I start to unbutton his shirt. “We could go grocery shopping in the morning if you don’t have any.”
He shakes his head. “Why do that when I can get someone to do it?”
“Because that’s what normal people do.”
“Who says I want to be normal?”
“It’ll be fun shopping together.”
“We’ve done that.”
“I’m just thinking about other things we can do besides have sex all the time.”
“We made breakfast together last time. Besides, you like having sex all the time.”
I can’t dispute that. Sex with Darren is like a different and unique carnival ride every time: nerve-wracking but thrilling.
He fists his hand suddenly through my hair. “Say it.”
“What?”
“How much you like having sex all the time.”
I gaze into his eyes and desire spreads like wildfire through me. “I like having sex.”
“All the time.”
“All the time.”
“I like being fucked.”
I swallow and echo, “I like being fucked.”
He steps into me and presses his lips near my ear. “You’ll get your fucking. But first, I want you to get yourself nice and wet.”
I haven’t finished unbuttoning his shirt, and I had wanted to run my hands along his chiseled chest and abs. But I do as he says and rub myself through the underwear.
Releasing me, he heads to the cabinet and returns with rope, a flogger, and a small box. He sits down on the sofa and sets the items beside him.
“Keep going,” he says when I pause. He rests his hands behind his head.
Even though I’ve been fully naked with Darren before and done things I never thought I’d consent to, I feel a little self-conscious with him doing nothing but watching.
